


Repentance

by windsabove



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Eldritch Horrors, F/M, Horror, Institutional Hierarchy, Lore Exploration, Multiple POV (eventually), Mutual Pining, Political Intrigue, Prejudice, Romance, Slow Burn, The Cosmos - Freeform, The Old Hunters, Troublesome Theocracy, because this idea grabbed me and won't let me go, buckle up my dudes, but it's gonna be a wild ride, eventual tragedy, seriously this is gonna be a really slow burn, when will they meet? we just don't know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2018-12-25 07:20:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12030951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windsabove/pseuds/windsabove
Summary: In the time of the Old Hunters, a young woman turns to the Healing Church for purpose. The Hunt has grown more perilous, and Sibyl seeks to serve her city by joining this habitual and violent cleansing. But even in the midst of this terrible rite, unprecedented events draw her closer to not only the Church's prized champion, but also to the sickening secrets Yharnam's blood-worshiping theocracy harbors.





	1. Indebted To The Church

**Author's Note:**

> A third fic has taken hold. I'm not quite sure how or why, but I think I noticed a slight lack of Ludwig fics and subconsciously decided to fill the void. Things kind of snowballed from there. This should be updated alongside my other fics, but it'll definitely be slower-going. At any rate, I hope you enjoy!

Sibyl stared into the hallway mirror, pale fingertips touching her thin reflection. She traced the dark circles under her eyes, the cheeks that never wanted to regain their color from youth. Had she always been this way? Or were the details of her news eating away at her crumbling bravery, gnawing at her health along the way? She silently vowed never to keep a secret so large again. The pressure was too great a burden to bring upon her mind.

“Mother, Father,” she whispered, letting her hand drift back to her side, “I am...no, not like that.” Sibyl shook her head. “You are twenty-five years of age, Sibyl. Keep your thoughts intact, will you?”

She straightened her posture, thinking. “I have an announcement: I’m going to hunt…” She slapped her forehead. “No, no, that’s all wrong. Why do books never teach us these things?” Her hand slid down her face, taking a loose strand of black hair with it. “You do not have the scourge, it should _not_ be this difficult. Make it simple, Sibyl. Make it-”

“Sibyl, darling! Come down for supper!”

Her heart flipped in her throat.

“Yes, mother!” The fear in her expression was not cloaked by the mirror. Sibyl swallowed hard, adjusted her low ponytail, then turned and descended the creaky wooden stairs, pasting a smile upon her face as she wandered towards the dining room.

“There’s our lovely Sibyl,” her father remarked fondly. “Reading about chivalrous knights again?”

She took a seat at the table, smoothing out the skirt of her plain dress. “History, mostly, but I suppose that’s close enough.”

“If you want to call the murderous Healing Church knights,” her mother sneered.

“Not at the table, dear.”

“Sibyl,” she continued, “ you would be better off looking to men of real stature. Heaven knows you won’t find any here.”

“Then how do you explain our father?”

Sibyl smiled at her sister’s addition. Ah, sweet Greta. Ailing since she was a baby, yet intelligent beyond her fourteen years of life.

“There are exceptions, Greta,” their mother replied, “but not many. Your sister was wise to take on employment as a book shop’s assistant rather than submitting to a Yharnamite marriage. The nerve of those callers…”

“Settle yourself, Rebecca.”

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. “I make a fair point, Ancil.”

The family quietly settled into their meal, as was the usual. Idle chatter crossed the table, but Sibyl cycled through her thoughts over and over again, focusing on the painting just behind Greta’s head. As she recalled, this particular decoration was entirely her father’s choice. A Hunter walked beneath the bright light of the moon, boots clicking along Yharnam’s stone streets. He wielded a sharp, curved blade in his right hand, folded down to allow him easier passage, and a simple pistol in his left. Ancil had quite the admiration for Hunters, regardless of the organization they answered to, but never possessed the will to become one himself. Sibyl had asked before, but he always blamed it on physical incapability. She didn’t believe that for a moment. Still, as she stared at the painting, her mind briefly fluttered with hope.

“Sibyl?”

She jumped at Rebecca’s voice. “Yes, mother?”

“You’ve hardly touched your supper,” Rebecca said, frowning. “Is something the matter?”

“No, I-”

“If it’s about the doctor’s latest visit,” Greta began, “I told you I’ll be fine. I’ve made it this long, haven’t I?”

“Of course,” Sibyl replied, fiddling with her hands. “You’ve always been a strong girl. I...I’ve just been thinking.”

“What about?” asked Ancil.

Sibyl set her hands on her lap and squeezed them together. She could hardly recall how long she had rehearsed this announcement. Days. Weeks. Perhaps more than a month, at this point. Even with all of that practice, though, her mouth threatened to never speak of the matter. She cleared her throat and glanced at her family.

“I...would like to tell all of you something,” she began. “I meant to tell you earlier, but it’s been difficult, finding a way to announce it.”

Greta tilted her head. “Have you found a suitable match, after all?”

Sibyl smiled a bit as their mother rolled her eyes. “No, Greta. They would have to break down the front door to gain access, if that were the case. Mother wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“I would break them first,” Rebecca muttered, sipping her tea.

“In any case,” Sibyl continued, “my news has nothing to do with the agonizing process of courtship.”

She hesitated again and looked down, hating herself for it all the while. It was a simple fact, a statement, an account of what she had been up to in recent days. She feared their reactions, but there was no other way for her to know their thoughts on the matter. After a few moments of silence, Sibyl glanced at the painting once more.

“I’m going to become a Hunter for the Healing Church.”

Sibyl didn’t dare look at her family, not while the silence was so suffocating. She pressed her hands together again and waited for someone, anyone, to speak. The gentle ticking of the entrance hall’s clock, ordinarily soothing, was about to drive her mad.

“Sibyl,” Ancil finally said, dark eyebrows knitted in concern, “are you certain about this?”

She nodded. “I’ve been certain for two years, father. The doctor has already cleared me for good health. I should be fit to leave for recruitment tomorrow.”

“I don’t rightly _care_ what the doctor cleared you for,” Rebecca seethed. “No daughter of mine will offer herself up as a lamb for the slaughter.”

“Rebecca, please-”

“Don’t.” Rebecca held up a hand, silencing her husband. “We have been over this numerous times, Sibyl. You do not owe those fanatics _anything_.”

“They saved Greta,” Sibyl replied, her tone steady. “Without the Church’s Hunters, where would she be? I wish to give back to the city in one of the only ways I know how.”

“You give them enough.”

“Then I wish to give more. I can serve as protection for this city and for my family.”

“You will bring those murderers _right to our door!_ ”

Sibyl flinched at her mother’s rising volume. Rarely was such a tone used against her. She allowed Rebecca to regain some of her composure.

“You have been taking care of Greta for years now,” Rebecca continued. “Perhaps more than you should have, but our standing gave us no other choice. That’s what happens when Yharnamites see one of their own bring in an outsider. However, we made the best of it by not drawing attention to ourselves. If you join their ranks, who’s to say they will not target your sister? Moreover, who will be here in your stead, should the Church’s practices consume you?”

She hated that term. Consume. As if the Church were some strange monstrosity waiting eagerly to swallow its followers whole, crafted out of a nightmare.

“I’ve already arranged for my absence,” Sibyl replied. “One of my old classmates will tend to Greta. She knows her condition well enough to understand her needs.”

“And, if I may, mother,” Greta interjected, “the nearby clinic has already gone over my diagnosis. They don’t know exactly what it is, but it is decidedly _not_ the beastly scourge. If it was, I would still be in said clinic.”

“That is _not_ the point.”

“I believe it is,” Greta continued, undeterred. “The Church has no reason to visit our home if they have no evidence of scourge. I’ve been told as much by numerous doctors. Sibyl should not be restricted from her wishes on my behalf. She’s taken care of me long enough.”

Silence floated around the table once more. Rebecca’s eyebrows slowly shifted from angered to...Sibyl wasn’t quite sure what emotion it was. Fear. Frustration, maybe.

“You make a fair argument. I shouldn’t hide behind your illness, dear.” Rebecca sighed, looking at Sibyl. “I worry what those Church Hunters will feed you, and I’m not thinking of food. They’re a particularly violent sort, Sibyl. Surely you understand this.” Her gaze flickered towards the table briefly. “I don’t want to lose you to their fanatic ways or to the scourge itself. But you are an adult, highly capable of making your own decisions. In the end, I know I cannot stop you from leaving for the Great Bridge at sunrise, just as I could not keep you from all Yharnamite practices. As much as it pains me, this is your path to forge.”

Sibyl blinked a few times. She expected more of a consistently raging response, but there was only sadness in her mother’s expression. She reached over and patted Rebecca’s hand.

“I like to think I learned something about personal responsibility from you,” she remarked, smiling a bit.

Rebecca chuckled quietly, interlocking their fingers. “That you did.” She gestured for Greta’s hand. Soon, the whole family joined hands in a hushed circle. “Ancil, I know this is an odd request from me, but...say a Yharnam prayer for our daughter. Please.”

Ancil nodded. Sibyl bowed her head, tuning in to her father’s gentle voice.

“May the heavens watch over your treacherous journey. May your blade swing true. May you find mercy in your deeds, compassion in the night. Protect our fair Yharnam, kind Hunter, and bring to her the cleansing moonlight.”

Rebecca squeezed her hand. A pause hovered between them before they closed the prayer with a phrase Sibyl had heard more times than she could count.

“Bless us with blood.”

/~/~/~/~/~/

Sibyl stared out her bedroom window, the rooftops of Yharnam mere silhouettes against a moonlit sky. She’d couldn’t remember how long ago she rose from her bed and propped her elbows on the windowsill. All she knew was that her eyes were heavy, but her mind was more than awake.

She had always heard stories of the gathering of willing citizens on the Great Bridge, but never did she think she would get to be a part of it. Perhaps if she hadn’t witnessed Greta being snatched just out of reach of a beast’s bloodied claws, the thought would have never crossed her mind. But it had been two years since that incident, and the idea hadn’t left since. Still, the thought of leaving for a life dedicated to the Hunt was daunting, at best.

A short squeaking noise startled her out of her thoughts. She turned towards her door and sighed.

“Greta,” she whispered to the sweet face peeking through the doorway, “what are you doing up? You should be sleeping.”

“I know.” Greta slipped into the room and carefully shut the door behind her. “But I won’t be awake to see you, so...I wanted to say goodbye.”

Sibyl walked over to the bed and sat on the end, patting the spot next to her. Greta made her way over and sat down, immediately grabbing one of Sibyl’s hands. Even with all of the sickness rendering her frail, Gretas hands were still as soft as a child’s.

“They’re not locking me away, silly,” said Sibyl. “Once I’m through with training, I’ll come visit. Assuming mother will allow me into the house donning the Church’s garb, that is.”

Greta shifted a bit. “Are you scared?”

“A little,” Sibyl answered truthfully. There wasn’t much she could do to hide that fact. “I have a great legacy to live up to, after all. You and I both know how formidable Hunters are, not to mention the one in charge of the Healing Church Hunters. I don’t expect to become _that_ successful.”

Greta shrugged. “You never know. What their leader has to offer in strength, perhaps you could offer something else in a different skill.”

“Seeing as I barely have any strength in my arms, I suppose that will have to do.”

“I think they could use someone as intelligent as you, Sibyl.”

“Are you suggesting they’re all dullards?”

“No!” Greta shook her head furiously. Sibyl chuckled. “I’m saying that you may be able to help them in ways they haven’t thought of yet. Maybe you’ll be the one to discover the cure for the beastly scourge.”

Sibyl snorted. “Someone is certainly hopeful on my behalf.”

“Aren’t you?”

“I just wish to pass the initial training. If I do that, then my efforts will be worth something.”

“Your efforts are always worth something, Sibyl.” Greta patted her hand. “Just because you’ve been sitting in one place all of this time doesn’t mean you weren’t contributing to something smaller. But I don’t think you were meant to keep all of your skills to yourself forever. You’re meant to share them with whomever you please. Just...come back to us eventually. The house won’t be the same without you.”

Sibyl sighed and pulled her sister into a hug. “And my life won’t be the same without seeing your bright face everyday.” Greta giggled a bit. “But you’re right. I can’t dwell in the shadows anymore. I just hope this will be enough to pull me out of them.”

“If it is, bring a piece of the Church back to me. I want to see how long it takes Mother to notice.”

“Greta!” Her sister let out a string of giggles. “You’ll kill her if she finds anything of that sort in your room.”

Greta coughed a bit. “Oh, she won’t die. After all, you certainly didn’t kill her with your news.”

Sibyl rolled her eyes. “Please behave yourself while I’m gone. You may be ill, but that doesn’t stop you from crafting your own brand of mischief.”

“Ah. I thought you hadn’t figured me out.”

“No. I just chose to ignore it.”

“And you call _me_ sneaky.”

Sibyl laughed and released Greta from the hug, squeezing her hands gently. “Off to bed with you, now. We both need our rest.”

Greta slowly stood up and wandered back towards the door. Her stride was steadier than normal. Sibyl could only hope it would remain that way while she trained for the Hunt. After she opened the door, Greta turned around again, her dark curls swaying ever so slightly as she did so.

“Sibyl?”

“Yes?”

Greta glanced down at her feet, then back up again. “I’m proud of you. I know you’ll make Yharnam proud, too.” Before Sibyl could speak, Greta slipped out of the room and quickly shut the door behind her.

Sibyl’s gaze drifted towards the thin beam of light the moon was casting upon her bedroom floor. Soon enough, she would be living in its brilliant radiance alongside other new recruits. She climbed into bed and stared at the window. All of her quiet aspirations culminated into this one act. For with the dawn came a new life, one in which she desperately desired to succeed.

She shut her eyes, silently praying for sleep to take her before the sun’s blazing rays bathed Yharnam in golden light.  



	2. Sacred Ward

Her hand brushed the door frame on the way out of her room before the morning sun could grace her bedroom. Although she knew no one would rise to bother her, she still cursed the creaky floorboards as she crept down the hallway. Once she was through with her agonizingly slow trip down the stairs, she stopped to stare at the light pouring into the dining room.

The dark blues of the night still lingered, but the oranges and yellows of the sun were beginning to intrude on those hues. It tinged everything a strange shade of green, almost. Even the tablecloth, normally a pristine red, snatched up pieces of the color. Her eyes drifted towards a particularly bright patch of white resting on the table. Sibyl wandered over and picked it up, skimming the smooth, looping handwriting she knew so well.

_Good hunting, Sibyl!_

Her lips twitched into a smile. She tucked Greta’s note into a dress pocket and stared up at the painting of the Hunter once more. Now more than ever, the streets in it lit up with an almost expectant gleam, as if its very stones longed for her feet to be stalking along them in the dead of night. She nodded towards the painting.

“I won’t disappoint,” she whispered.

Sibyl turned and stepped towards the front door. Her foot tapped twice. She quietly went through her mental list. Doctor’s note confirming good health? Perhaps it wasn’t needed, but it was better to have it than not. Small bag of belongings? It was enough to make her presentable outside of potential duties. List of skills? She’d rattled them off to herself more times than she could count.

Dedication?

She only hoped she could keep that.

With one more breath, she opened the door and stepped out into the Yharnam morning. The slightest chill slipped beneath her clothing as she shut the door behind her and began her trek towards the Great Bridge.

Yharnam was always quiet in the early hours of the day, but it was far removed from a hunt and still managed to cling to the eerie air of it all. It made the town unique, in a strange sort of way. Most days, Sibyl hardly noticed it. Today, however, everything clawed at her senses. The gentle breeze whispering in her ears, the soft glow of light emanating from the street lamps, her boots clicking against the stonework. For a moment, she thought she heard two sets of feet walking along the street. There wasn’t much time to stop and check, though. She had places to be, and it was likely just a fellow Yharnamite starting their day-

“Sibyl?”

She froze in place. That voice...she hadn’t heard it in ages. Sibyl turned around and let out a small gasp at the sight of the young man.

“... _Edwin?_ ”

Edwin grinned and walked towards her. That smile of his, although it could almost never win her over, sent many others into quite the tizzy. Coupled with high cheekbones and an unnaturally smooth complexion for a Yharnamite, he was a sight to behold. His eyes were as blue, bright, and mischievous as she remembered them, and his golden blond hair refused to be tamed. Rogue strands stuck up towards the front of his head, though it never seemed to detract from the charm he tended to infect others with. And, of course, he was dressed as smartly as any well-to-do Yharnam gentleman. The only thing missing was a nice hat to finish his clean ensemble.

“So,” he started, stopping just short of her, “your mum finally let you out of the house?”

Sibyl rolled her eyes, although it was difficult keeping the smile off of her face. “It was a civil discussion, but yes. I exist outside of my home and place of employment for once. Well...I should say _former_ place of employment.”

Edwin raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Where are you running off to, then? Not out of town, I take it?”

“No,” she replied. “I...I’ve decided to join the Healing Church.”

His eyes widened. “ _You?_ ” Edwin put a hand to his forehead. “You mean to tell me that, after two years of not seeing you, my best friend, outside of coincidental meetings on the street, you’re running off to join the Healing Church to combat the Scourge?” He lifted his head. “Can’t you at _least_ send me a letter before you go doing these things?”

“Edwin, a letter from me would never make it past your front door,” she said.

He leaned in. “Not if I snatch it from one of the servants before my mother can get to it.” He winked and stood up straight. “I’ve done it before, y’know. Just because I’m well-off doesn’t mean I have to act like it.” Edwin let out a short sigh. “Anyway, you’re in luck this time.”

She set a hand on her hip. “And why would that be?”

“Because,” he said, linking their arms together, “I’ve also decided to join the Healing Church.”

Sibyl choked back a snicker. “You won’t last a _day_.”

“Such confidence from my closest friend.” He pouted briefly. “Well, it was either this or deal with another onslaught of frantic Yharnam girls wanting to be married by the next sunrise. I’d be tired of them all in a week. If I’m going to marry a woman, or anyone, for that matter, there needs to be, oh, I dunno, a bond?”

“Strong words for a man as dangerously flirtatious as yourself,” Sibyl tittered.

Edwin shrugged. “You’ll understand someday. Won’t it be fun once you find the romantic partner of your dreams?”

“I’ll be happy if I survive one Hunt,” she stated.

“Ah, I’ll make sure of that.” He jerked his head towards the path in front of them. “Let’s get going, shall we?”

They stepped forward, their boots hitting the brick in unison. It was just like old times, younger days, before their differing families and the duties of adulthood snatched them apart. From an outside perspective, they looked to be romantically entwined, but they’d both agreed long ago that romance had no place in their relationship. Yharnam could think what they wanted, for all she cared.

As they drew closer to Central Yharnam, the orange rays of the sun revealed all of the beauty that was contained within their city. Her mother always regarded the statues and the like as disturbing, but she found a certain calm among them. Images of people gesturing to the heavens with gentle cloth draped over their heads and bodies. Sometimes, she spotted a few that were praying or covering their eyes. When she was younger, she would sneak off and try to peek beneath their stony figures to see if anyone bothered to give them faces. If she remembered correctly, whoever made them was rather inconsistent on that front. All the same, the way they were carefully placed around the city, particularly in the areas closer to the Cathedral Ward, almost made Yharnam feel like a warmer, more inviting place.

The streets were cleaner than usual. On a good day, traces of blood could still be found splattered on the sides of people’s homes and drying between the cracks in the stones. Today, however, everyone in Central Yharnam seemed to remember that there was a special occasion. Sibyl swore some of the front doors were scrubbed to a mirror shine. Even the lamp posts, normally gritty from the dirt and debris of the city, were shining beacons in the early morning light. She supposed that, when it came to the Church elite potentially strolling through the area, some Yharnamites truly took it upon themselves to make their city look presentable.

She turned her gaze ahead. Other pairs of feet were now clicking and shuffling towards the Great Bridge. She hadn’t realized they were already so close. Some of the young citizens looked so familiar, yet so estranged. There was hardly an older Yharnamite to be seen wandering towards life in the Church’s service. Gentle fingers pressed into her arm. Sibyl glanced up at Edwin.

“Sibyl,” he muttered, gesturing towards the homes they were passing, “look up.”

The moment she did so, small voices called out from the now open windows. All along the street, children of different ages leaned over their windowsills, cheered and waved whatever pieces of fabric they could find. The sun cast a dazzling glow upon their smiling faces, gentle angels watching their journeys as Hunters unfold. She and Edwin waved back in unison, one to each side of the street. Their gesture garnered raucous cries from every last one of them. Sibyl glanced behind her. Other potential Hunters began to follow suit. Never had she known how enthusiastic people could be for the candidates wandering towards their new beginnings. Now that she was among the group receiving this praise, it was...invigorating.

A small giggle slipped out of her mouth. Edwin looked at her and smiled.

“Having fun already?” he asked. “We’re not even in the Cathedral Ward yet.”

“I know, but…” She turned her gaze ahead again. “Gods, is this real?”

“Hard to make up all of those children driving their parents batty.”

They walked past a black fountain flanked by large oaks that were due to lose their leaves at any moment. Through some miracle or simply through someone’s ingenuity, the water flowing from the top of the fountain ran clear and jumped out of the cupped hands of the statues that knelt around it, pooling at the base. Sibyl briefly caught her reflection in the ripples. Tired, but presentable. The stray hair or two that snuck their way towards her cheeks were subtle enough to be ignored.

They ascended a short set of stairs and came upon a small, unassuming well, accompanied by more oaks with gnarled branches. Edwin snorted at the sight of it. Sibyl raised an eyebrow.

“Do you, by chance, remember the time someone put me up to dropping a blood bomb in there?” Edwin asked, still smiling.

“Unfortunately, yes.” She wrinkled her nose. “I still have no earthly idea where and how you gained access to such a thing, but you drove this entire half of Yharnam into turmoil with no Hunt to aid you. They all ran to the Vicar claiming it was a miracle of the gods.”

“It was amazing, is what it was.”

“Edwin, this was _three years ago_. By all accounts, it should never have been an idea to cross your mind.”

“Well, tell that to the other well-off, bored young men of Yharnam. We’ve got to do _something_ to fill the time between our vague responsibilities.” She let out a short, exasperated sigh. Edwin squeezed her arm. “Got your mind off of this whole mess, didn’t it?”

“Not for long,” she replied as they climbed the final set of stairs to the Great Bridge. Sibyl nearly choked on a gulp of air once they arrived at the top. Groups of people, most around their age, were already gathered in tight packs all along the length of the bridge, chatting the minutes away and bubbling with excitement. More were coming up the stairs behind them. She looked towards the balcony that overlooked the bridge. No one was there yet. She had punctuality on her side, although she wasn’t sure how far that was going to take her.

“Last chance to run,” Edwin commented.

Sibyl brushed a strand of hair out of her face and straightened her posture. “And throw all of my aspirations aside? I think not.”

“That’s more like it.”

He tugged her along, weaving between the groups. Some stared at them for longer than she cared for. Others were too wrapped up in their nerves to pay them any mind. Either way, Edwin was determined to drag her as close to the entrance as possible. The familiar statues popped up along the sides, though their hands held the smallest of candles. Somehow, the flickering flames struggling to survive against the breeze comforted her.

The conversations taking place towards the gate were more energetic, bombastic, even. Someone raved about the Church’s violent stance towards the Scourge, praising their weaponry. Edwin let out a short laugh.

“Do you think that’s true?” he asked.

“What?” Sibyl replied.

“That the Church Hunters go around smashing beasts with huge hammers and swords the size of their bodies? I mean, you would know better than me, since…” He paused, frowning. “Sorry. It’s not right of me to ask.”

She patted his arm. It got an apologetic smile out of him.

“I suppose we’ll find out for ourselves,” she said.

The deep chimes of the distant clocktower sounded the arrival of the new hour. Sibyl counted them in her head. Seven chimes, ringing in the deadline. Hurried feet scuffled far behind them. She was only partially thankful it wasn’t her scrambling to make it. The latecomers, however, were the least of her problems. A hush fell over everyone on the Great Bridge, and she only had to look up towards the balcony to understand why.

A Church official, her affiliation indicated by her pristine white robes and skirt, approached the balcony railing and observed the jittery mass of recruits. From her location, Sibyl swore a brief smile tugged at the woman’s lips before she spoke.

“Recruits,” she began, projecting her voice for all to hear, “today, you stand on this bridge, greeting the duties of the Hunt with open arms. It is an honor to serve Yharnam through the Healing Church. While rewarding, however, it is not a position meant for the weak-willed or haphazard soul. You will face many an arduous and violent trial, testing your bodies and minds. If this is something you do not wish to endure, leave now.”

No one around them so much as twitched. Sibyl gently squeezed Edwin’s hand. He squeezed back.

“Then,” she continued, “I welcome you to the Cathedral Ward.”

Sibyl expected a grandiose gate to open, its creaks echoing into the sleepy city before they were all ushered into the Cathedral Ward proper. Instead, a small door in the wall opened. Out stepped a few Healing Church Hunters, donned in their black garb. Footsteps behind her shuffled backwards, but only just. She didn’t blame them. Seeing these Hunters outside of their clinical duties was...unsettling.

The Church Hunter closest to the door gestured towards it, then disappeared inside. One by one, the people around them began to trickle in behind the Hunter. Sibyl and Edwin looked at each other simultaneously.

“Well,” he muttered, “the worst that happens is we’re sacrificed in some fiery pyre in an attempt to appease an angry deity.”

Sibyl frowned. “Why must you come up with the worst scenarios?”

“To cheer you up, of course.” He grinned. “Let’s go.”

She took a deep, quiet inhale as Edwin tugged her along again. When they entered the small room, Sibyl blinked a few times. It contained lines of carefully engraved pottery. Small candles poked out of the tops, though none of them were burning at the moment. Edwin let out a quiet snort as they shuffled past.

“Think they’d kick me out if I tipped one of these over?” he whispered, amusement skipping across his words.

“Do _not_ ,” she hissed. Edwin chuckled, but left the pottery alone, much to Sibyl’s relief.

They continued through the room and up a narrow staircase, the smoke of freshly extinguished torches slithering towards the skies. It led them to the lookout that stood above the bridge. Sprawling maples towered above them, while tiny vines coiled around shining iron fences and small benches that lined the main walkway. She glanced to her right and noted the balcony from which the white-garbed Hunter spoke. There didn’t seem to be a way to reach that part without climbing over a few railings, but she supposed the Church would do about anything to relay an announcement.

Sibyl looked ahead and chose to focus on the buildings at the end of the pathway instead of the fellow recruits walking in front of her. It took her a moment, but one long look at the layout of those buildings told her they were ordinary houses. She had no idea common Yharnamites lived in the Ward. No one really made mention of it, not in her family. If anything, it was mere hearsay until this point.

To the right of the houses was a quaint sitting area, flanked with two small willows, a few more wooden benches, and a patch of oddly-colored flowers resting in the middle. They were sunflowers, but pale white instead of bright yellow. They’d only started appearing at funerals a few years prior, so it was strange to see them here. She’d have to ask how they were grown. From her position on the walkway, she could just make out how far above the city the Cathedral Ward stood. It was a gorgeous sight, something she’d have to take in better in her spare time...if she succeeded at all.

She followed up a long group of stairs to the left. Ornate iron and familiar statues lined the sides, and more candles burned in their inanimate hands. Sibyl reached out and brushed one of the statues’ hands, inspecting her fingers afterwards. Not a fleck of dust settled onto her skin. At the very least, she could count on the Cathedral Ward being clean. The scent of still-burning lamps filled her nose, crisp and soothing all at once. It made her briefly forget where she was going, and it took passing stained-glass windows and the steadily growing whispers of the other recruits to remember.

Before she could truly compose herself, however, they came upon a circular courtyard. No, not a courtyard. A graveyard. A strange symbol marked many of the headstones. It almost looked like a person dangling upside-down. Something about it fascinated her, though she didn’t have the time to figure out what it was. A large statue in the center of the circle gestured towards the heavens, just like all of the others surrounding it, but something about its face was off. Too withdrawn. An inhuman face. Soft appendages where a mouth should be. A depiction of a god, perhaps. After all, Yharnam _did_ fancy unusual images of the very unseen forces they prayed to.

There was a pathway off to the left, but they were led through the opposite gate and up another staircase. For a place supposedly bustling with Church Hunters, it was empty and eerily quiet, almost as quiet as it was rumored to be on nights of the Hunt. Though she never set foot in this place until now, this part of the Ward was described to her enough times for her to know exactly where they were heading.

“Deep breaths,” Edwin mumbled.

She inhaled sharply. “I’m fine, I’m fine.”

“Your death grip on my hand says otherwise.”

Sibyl loosened her fingers. “Sorry.” She steadied her breaths. “It’s just...have you heard what goes on in the Grand Cathedral?”

Edwin shrugged. “Hasn’t everyone?”

Had they? Her mother’s words clawed their way back from months prior.

_Painting their altars with victim’s blood in a ritual for mercy. Why else do victims so easily disappear, never to be found?_

Sibyl shuddered.

“Nothing goes on in there except worship and the occasional celebration,” Edwin continued. “You can’t believe everything you’ve been fed.”

“Can you?” she retorted.

“Considering I’ve had family members worm their way in here for specific blood treatments, I’d like to think so.” He sighed. “Either way, you’re more likely to die to beasts than you are going to the Cathedral. Out of everything in this town, I’d say it’s damn near impossible for the nighttime horrors to touch.”

Sibyl turned her gaze forward again. By then, they were already approaching the last staircase before the Cathedral’s entrance. In all of her building panic, she still appreciated the torches on either side illuminating the golden patterns that swirled and danced upon the already open double doors. She held her breath as they passed under the doorway. If something was going to snatch her resolve, it wasn’t going to be then.

She almost stopped in her tracks at the sight of the staircase. It was larger than anyone painted it in their hushed, awe-filled descriptions. Tiny candles illuminated the strange inhuman figures standing at attention, spears in hand. Their almond-shaped heads were full of holes, and Sibyl had to wonder if all of those holes contained eyes. She swallowed hard and tore her thoughts away from the idea.

The instant her foot grazed the top stair, an organ began to play. Sibyl bit back a yelp and held in her gasp.

No artistic depiction could do the interior of the Grand Cathedral justice. While the windows were rather simple for such an ornate structure, the architecture stole her breath. Strong squares of stone supported the upper part of the cathedral. Columns framed the windows, their grooves thinly carved. In fact, almost everything in this place was decorated with some delicate detail. The floor had several squares with circular patterns carefully arranged within. Almost like a flower, or perhaps a strange clock. She didn’t have much time to decide what it was.

Not with hundreds of eyes staring at her, anyway.

Every member of the Healing Church had to be here, slowly rising from their chairs to watch the procession of fresh blood. It would explain the eerie silence from earlier. Towards the back, they were all clothed in black. As she moved ahead, the black filtered into a sea of white, though the white garb differed towards the front. What was similar to the black garb morphed into something completely different. Simple hoods and small ropes were exchanged for peculiar blindfolded hats and ornate decorations of several kinds, including large but beautiful stoles that bore the insignia of the Healing Church. However, as she filtered into a row and took her seat at last, an entirely different group of people caught her wary eye.

In front of the altar on her side sat a rather intimidating bunch. Some of the Hunters that had led them in slipped towards the ends, but the first man of interest closest to them puzzled her. He wore no official garb, but instead rags and tatters of what once was proper clothing, aside from an intact coat of some kind and bandages covering his eyes. Sibyl was tempted to stand on her tiptoes to get a better look at his feet, but decided against it. It was none of her concern, really, but she had to wonder why he was there. Perhaps the Church had some secrets, after all.

Of equal interest was the woman standing next to him. She donned black garb like many of the people here, yet it was somehow different. The ends of her sleeves were cut closer to her arms instead of billowing out, and she looked much sturdier than many of the women present. Sibyl pondered what this woman’s specialty was to warrant such a tall, strong frame.

The gentleman to her left carried with him the Yharnam spark in terms of fashion sense. He donned a traditional top hat, and his  dark cape, though tattered on the ends, draped around his shoulders like a gentle shield. The rest of his ensemble closely resembled that of the Hunter in her father’s painting, though life had aged this man. He was not old, that Sibyl could say for certain just by his dark hair. Still, there was experience etched into his stoic expression. She wasn’t about to inquire as to what kind.

On the other side were three more people. The furthest from her was a young man, whose rugged face almost hid his age. He couldn’t be much older than many of the recruits, yet there he stood. He was clothed in mostly black, and there was a certain sheen about his gloves. It took spotting the bloody dagger on his belt to realize that the sheen was blood. Aside from that, there was hardly a mark to indicate otherwise. Sibyl bit her lip. She’d read enough literature to know his profession within the Church. An assassin. There was nothing more to it.

Next to him sat a woman of icy composure. Her garb was a blend of Yharnam style and something far more illustrious than Sibyl had seen before. The woman’s one sided cape and bright blonde hair, however, made her easily identifiable. Even shut-ins knew of Lady Maria. It was hard to dismiss the chatterings of her admirers. And now, as Sibyl observed Maria tearing into them all with her eyes alone, Sibyl resisted the urge to shrink in her seat and avoid scrutiny. A gentle hand settled on her shoulder. She jumped.

“You were slouching,” Edwin mumbled.

“No, I wasn’t,” Sibyl whispered quickly.

He grinned. “No shame. She’s intimidating, that one.” He gestured towards Maria, then shifted said gesture to the left. “She’s not the one in command, though. He is.”

Sibyl followed Edwin’s hand and almost cursed for missing the man. If Edwin was right, then this was the other Church figure nearly every Yharnamite praised and adored. The Holy Blade himself, sitting up straight, calmly observing the masses. His dark hair was neatly tied back in a low ponytail, which revealed a strong jawline, high cheekbones, and a slightly prominent nose. It was hard to decipher his facial expression, but it seemed to be one of careful thought. Ludwig was certainly dressed as she imagined someone of his stature would be: his very own kind of Church garb, a cross between both types of white garb with a unique twist, likely suited for his fighting style. The white cloth draped around his shoulders and fell down his back in a type of cape of its own, while the rest of his ensemble consisted of black garb adorned with ample equipment for a fruitful hunt. Although, unlike the assassin, he carried with him no visible weapon. Sibyl both feared and admired his confidence on that front.

Ludwig’s gaze met hers. His eyes were green, shimmering, almost.

Sibyl gasped and promptly stared at the floor.

“You’re not very good at sneaking glances, are you?”

She frowned at Edwin’s comment. “I wasn’t _sneaking_ anything.”

“Ah, so you _meant_ to be blatant.”

Sibyl shifted to elbow Edwin in the ribs, but was startled out of her actions by the sharp change in music. The group at the front stood up from their seats simultaneously, and the new recruits took that as their sign to rise. Sibyl got to her feet, though she couldn’t figure out for the life of her why. She glanced towards the front again and noted an empty chair in the center. Who was missing?

“Eyes forward,” Edwin hissed.

She looked at him and quirked an eyebrow. His posture was rigid. “Why-”

“Just _trust me._ ”

His sudden change in tone unnerved her. She turned her head towards the front and tuned in to the organ. Somehow, this music was more somber than the last. It had an oddly ominous note to it, one she didn’t care for in these circumstances. Footsteps slowly clicked up the makeshift aisle towards the altar. It was an eternity before they passed their row. Sibyl stole a brief sideways glance. She regretted it immediately and bit back a shudder.

“The Vicar,” she whispered.

She caught Edwin’s nod out of the corner of her eye and slipped her hand into his. He didn’t resist.

Though supposedly in tune with Yharnam’s needs and dedicated to the healing of its ills, Laurence had a conflicting reputation with the general populace. Some regarded Yharnam’s First Vicar as a blessing upon the city, a good omen from the gods in their time of need five years ago. Others spoke of a different side, a man that could tear a bloodline asunder before dawn. She didn’t know which to believe, yet dared not stray far from Edwin’s instructions.

It was strange seeing Laurence up close. The only times she’d seen him were from a distance, although his robes weren’t hard to miss. Mostly black with various Church stoles. Off-white over his shoulders with red embroidery curling along the edges and a black collar. Spots of red peeking out from dark, draping sleeves. When he turned to face the congregation, Sibyl was taken aback by his sharp, angular face and pale skin. The only things that stood out more were his dark red hair and blindingly bright eyes. The eyes in particular were highlighted by the dark circles of exhaustion underneath them. In a way, said exhaustion made his eyes flare like sparks of fire.

The organ ceased. An unsettling hush fell over the crowd. Edwin squeezed her hand. She returned the gesture.

“Be seated,” Laurence finally said.

Edwin almost dragged Sibyl back down to her seat. She settled and rubbed her thumb on the back of his hand. More agonizing silence filled the cathedral. Sibyl swore she heard the clock tower chiming again.

“On this day,” Laurence began, “you have chosen the path of the Healing Church. Many walk this road in hopes of success. Not all, however, can move forward with this sacred institution.” He paused. “Before your skills are tested in your first Hunt, you will be trained and mentored under the guidance of the Church Captain and his associates. Only by their discretion will you be deemed fit for combat and potentially placed amongst our ranks. Tonight, you will be placed in housing within the Cathedral Ward, and you will not be permitted to leave the Ward until your training is complete.”

Muttering bubbled up around them. Sibyl took a sharp inhale. Edwin’s grip tightened.

“This,” Laurence continued, ignoring the quiet chatter, “is to eliminate interference and distraction from the rest of the city. Should there be any objections to this policy, you may speak now.”

Whatever protests were floating around before immediately died. Sibyl thought she noted the slightest upward twitch of Laurence’s lips.

“Then we may begin the recitation of your adage.”

A brief pocket of quiet swaddled them all before voices echoed off of the walls in unison.

_Shrouded by night, but with steady stride._

_Colored by blood, but always clear of mind._

_Proud Hunter of the Church,_

_Beasts are a curse, and the curse is a shackle._

Sibyl stared down at her hands, then closed her eyes.

 _Only ye are the true blades of the Church._  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pheeewwww, this took way longer than I wanted it to. But life happened and so did a new job that I'm still kind of adjusting to, so there we go. I'm hoping to update this fic more regularly and get another update out for Lions. We'll see how that goes. Stay tuned!


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